


isolation for two

by nairwal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Coronavirus, First Kiss, Fluff, Good Omens Lockdown, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nairwal/pseuds/nairwal
Summary: “Don’t look at me like that.”“Like what?”“Like that!” Crowley raises his voice until it cracks,  and waves his hand toward Aziraphale, flapping his fingers unhappily. “Like I’m— I don’t know. Something for you to worry about.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 149
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	isolation for two

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all. This is inspired by Gaiman’s lovely little video. 
> 
> Much love!
> 
> (Extra note: I only listened to the video once and I seem to have gotten mixed up between the months of June and July. Oops! Forgive me).

Aziraphale doesn’t stay true to his word on self isolation. But, he did. At least for a little while. (A week).

Seven days of solitude is all well surrounded by shelves of old books and endless baked goods. And they really are very good... Yet, Aziraphale can’t help but ponder over Crowley’s request. He’d wanted to come over to the bookshop— to share a drink with Aziraphale, watch him eat, be in his space. But he’d been turned down in the pretence of safety, and decided to sleep until June. 

It’s no revelation that Aziraphale is, in some ways and perhaps even most, a fool. 

It may have taken him a week to rethink his words, to take a significant dislike to his own cowardice, but he supposes that he got there in the end. He wonders briefly if humans have this much trouble with those they find themselves in love with, also, but then he thinks, yes. Yes, they do. It’s all rather messy, really. Without all of these feelings, he’s certain everyone could function normally.

Even with his (late, late, _late_ ) revelation of love, Aziraphale can’t help but feel wholly guilty for Crowley’s impending month-long slumber. Aziraphale simply refuses to stand by and let him do so. At least by his lonesome. 

The plan of action is really quite simple: materialise inside of Crowley’s flat, forcibly tug him out of bed (while apologising, only half meaning it), and return to the bookshop, only this time with a Demon by his side. It’s a good, solid, _decent_ plan that is destined to succeed. Aziraphale expects that it’ll go very well. 

* 

It doesn’t go well at all. Aziraphale’s quite upset about it, honestly.

Crowley simply cannot be found anywhere in his flat. Neither in his human or serpent form. Not in his bed hibernating like expected nor shouting obscenities at his poor plants. (Aziraphale compliments each and every one of them on their delightful colours as he passes them by— Crowley doesn’t have to know). 

And so, with the plan of action having taken a significant blow, Aziraphale brainstorms on possible locations his friend could be. He considers many of the locations they’ve walked through together, arm in arm or side by side, chatting warmly and arguing coldly, that they’ve seen survive through multiple eras of human life and wars and travesty, but none of them make sense to Aziraphale. 

He ponders, if only for a moment, over the possibility of space. Over the planets and the stars and the galaxies that the Demon may well have decided to traverse. He’s always had a soft spot for them, whether he lent his hand in their creation or otherwise. But, still...

There is a familiar feeling deep within Aziraphale’s chest that he can now recognise as longing. It feels as physical as it can, tangible in how it grips around his heart and spreads through the space between his ribs. It’s rather unpleasant. Aziraphale would like to think that his emotions could be heard from a distance with how loud they are being as of right now.

It’s a whim and not likely to work, but one has to try. Aziraphale’s voice is quiet when he speaks, weak from lack of use. It still echoes around the empty room. “Crowley?”

He waits. A second and then two. The flat is very dark around him, empty and bare in ways that make Aziraphale feel unwelcome. 

“Come home. Please.”

It only takes another moment of silence, of awkward uncertainty, but then Crowley appears before him. He looks almost the exact same as when they’d last seen one another; when they’d met for a meal in Fort William during a particularly frosty late January morning, but his eyeline is visibly red even behind his glasses and his hair is unkempt— wind-swept and longer than it has been in quite some time. It sits neatly on his shoulders. He looks so small, posture stiff and unsure.

Aziraphale frowns. “My dear—?”

Shaking his head, Crowley holds a hand out. He meets Aziraphale’s eyes. “I’m okay. Really, Angel. I’ve just been... ruminating.” 

“Ruminating?” Aziraphale questions, eyebrows raised. “Whatever on?” 

Crowley shrugs. He cracks his neck and it pops loudly. Such a human tic that it’d make Aziraphale smile in any other situation. “Dunno. Everything? Life, death. This virus. My crippling bloody loneliness.” He goes for a smile, something weak and washy, and Aziraphale just frowns deeper. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like that!” Crowley raises his voice until it cracks, and waves his hand toward Aziraphale, flapping his fingers unhappily. “Like I’m— I don’t know. Something for you to worry about.”

A gasp escapes Aziraphale’s lips. “Don’t you tell me what to worry about! I shall worry about you as I like. Which I do, and which I _have_ done.” The Angel huffs softly, feeling unbalanced. He shuffles his feet, watches Crowley like a hawk. “I worried. I wondered where you had gone.” 

Crowley’s eyes slide from Aziraphale’s, to the floor, to the wall behind him. He looks unsure, like there’s something on his mind, on his tongue, but he’s trying his best to suppress it. Aziraphale has seen this look before. 

“Where did you go?” Aziraphale asks when Crowley offers up nothing himself. But Crowley only shakes his head, shrugging. 

“Nowhere important. Really. Kind of everywhere. Just... places where I could— could think.” He pauses, pressing his lips together until they go white. “Or _not_ think. Both. Warm beaches in Brazil, cliffsides in Iceland. I even visited a dirty, old oil rig in the sea somewhere between Scotland and Norway. See? Nowhere special.”

Aziraphale tilts his head to the side just a fraction. Crowley was running from his problems— his thoughts. But, he had also escaped the grey confines of his flat _to_ think. To face his problems head on. Oh, it’s so like Crowley to be so complex. Staying quiet, Aziraphale studies Crowley. He looks wrung out, a little untidy, but he’s the same as he has ever been. Struggling, perhaps, confused and hurt. The pang of sadness that Aziraphale feels at knowing he has made Crowley unhappy, has made him feel disappointed, is uncomfortable.

“Did you come to any conclusions?” Aziraphale watches as Crowley’s eyelashes flutter. 

“Conclusions...?” 

“Yes, dear. The final statement of a process or piece of academic writing.” 

That surprises a tiny, crooked smile out of Crowley and it’s as sweet as any of the cakes Aziraphale has made in the last while. 

“Oh. Well. I think... I already had my conclusions.” He scratches the back of his head with a single painted nail. “I just wanted to suffer with them some more.” He inhales deeply through his nose, chest deflating. “But, I’m here. So I’m okay. Everything’s okay. You can head home now.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale can’t help himself, sighing into his words and smiling softly. Crowley watches him with his eyebrows pulled together and his lips parted. “You are such— _I_ am so—” Aziraphale reaches forward and gently pulls Crowley’s sunglasses from his face, unhooking the arms from behind his ears and tucking them into his front pocket for safe-keeping.

Crowley’s eyes are wide. Confused. Aziraphale simply reaches forward and pushes the stray red hairs behind his ears, fingertips gentle against his warm skin and tracing from the sharp hinge of Crowley’s jaw to his dimpled chin. The Demon’s breath hitches so quietly, so sweetly, and Aziraphale continues his caress. His fingers travel from his chin to his cheekbones to his forehead. His eyebrows, his thin and alkaline nose. Then, his lips. Aziraphale presses a single thumb over them, a wordless request. All he can do is breathe into the air between them. 

“Kiss me,” Crowley whispers, his eyelids closed and chin tilted upward. It’s quite the image, one Aziraphale is unlikely to forget, but he closes the space holding them apart and it’s like they’ve been putting this off for years. 

(They have).

Crowley kisses with a soft and sweet innocence that makes the longing lodged inside Aziraphale’s chest ache. Their lips meet and part, Crowley’s hands roam the length of Aziraphale’s shoulders, delicate and careful. Aziraphale’s own hands find home in the red curls that tumble down from Crowley’s scalp. Despite looking messier than usual, the strands are soft between his fingers. 

One of them makes a needy noise when the other slides a warm tongue between them (Crowley made the noise, Aziraphale initiated the tongue, but that’s irrelevant) and it’s only then that they pull back, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed, but completely at peace. 

“Are you okay?” Aziraphale asks, voice low. He places a chaste kiss to the bend of Crowley’s nose, and another to his cheek. 

Crowley nods with a single, jerk of his head. He clears his throat while Aziraphale continues to lather him in kisses, on his cheeks and near the rough curve of his jaw.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m’good.” He catches Aziraphale’s eyes. His own are hooded. “I take it this is my invitation to come back to the bookshop with you?”

Aziraphale can’t help but beam. “Oh, my dear boy, you never need an invitation.” 

They escape from the darkness of Crowley’s flat with their hands clasped and a click of their fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> [Commissions Info](https://goomens.tumblr.com/post/617027819411849216/my-ko-fi-is-up-and-running-and-commissions-are-now) | [Fandom List](https://goomens.tumblr.com/post/617027819411849216/my-ko-fi-is-up-and-running-and-commissions-are-now) | [Support me on Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/nairwal) :*


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